Smoke and Diamonds
by Uruviel Elensar
Summary: Wen Ling is a young girl just trying to take care of her sister and brother. However, when a dark wizard wishes to use her abilities as a stone mage to find a jewel of enormous value and power, she finds herself on the run. Along the way to recovering her kidnapped brother, she runs into some members of Fairy Tail. Chapter 1: It was Laxus's hand on Lucy's thigh that did Natsu in.
1. Prologue

I've switched the order of chapter one and chapter two, so this chapter is the real new chapter, and the next chapter is the one I already posted before.

Thanks for reading!

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It was Laxus's hand on Lucy's thigh that did Natsu in.

Of course, fingers can be turned in Mira's direction as well, but that is a moot point. The only good thing that could be said about this catastrophe is that the master had Freed fireproof the guildhall, so that the resulting explosion caused only minor damage. Moreover, most of the wizards were able to protect themselves, so the worst that happened was some minor burns.

When asked to comment, the only thing Laxus could say about the incident was: "That was some shit good fun."

Gajeel agreed.

Lucy is unavailable for questioning due to having her brains scr-.

"Laxus!" Mira scolds from where she is leaning over his shoulder. "That is not appropriate language for a formal document."

"But Mira, this is specifically for the guild hall's records, so who cares what kind of language I use?" Laxus bites his pen in order to conceal the grin at his lips. It's been a long day and a longer night. He's been at the guildhall since almost sunrise yesterday, preparing everything for the festivities. While he loves the Fairy Tail guildhall, twenty four hours is really too long to stay in it when he has been both awake and sober the entire time.

"Laxus, as guild-master-to-be, you know that guild hall records are open for review by the magic council."

"So," Laxus shrugs his broad shoulders, though he leans back into his seat in compliance as Mira takes a magical eraser to the part he has just been writing. It's a little awkward as the spacing is a little tight, and they're both in less than adequate clothing for this kind of intimacy.

Laxus had discarded the white formal shirt he'd worn for the party for the wife beater that he'd worn underneath it. The shirt is mostly ruined, anyway. It was black and charred at the cuffs and arms from where he had protected his face from the fire rat's flames. Thankfully, he had expected it and had bought a new, cheaper shirt for the occasion rather than risking one of his more expensive, tailored shirts.

Mira, on the other hand, is still wearing her flouncing, low cut violet dress. She never wears anything as revealing as she had when she was younger—which is a disappointment to many of her fans—but it still highlights Mira's impressive femininity.

Despite that Laxus's thoughts have never wandered in the direction of a relationship between Mira and himself (when they were younger, they were both too argumentative and immature, and now Laxus knows Mira's eyes are straying far more often in Freed's direction) Laxus takes the opportunity to observe her backside unobserved. He breathes in the sense of her jasmine perfume, tinged slightly with smoke, but still perfectly lovely. It isn't that he likes Mira in that way, but just that she's a fine example of the female form.

Not even looking behind her, Mira grits out, "Laxus, if you don't want to go outside and spar, I would ask that you control yourself."

At the threat of Demon Mira, Laxus looks away and crosses his arms. "Che," he grunts. Although he isn't really scared of Demon Mira, he knows that any clash between the two of them—especially in the mood they are in—will be very serious. And he is through with irreparably hurting his guild mates.

A knock at the door draws their attention. Freed stands in his usual outfit, hair perfectly in place (despite being part of the debacle earlier). As soon as she sees him, Mira softens in a way that Laxus can't understand. It's not just in her body, which starts to sway towards him, or in her expression, which flares into excitement that melts into a pudding-like smile—sweet, soft, and sincere.

"Hey, Freed." Mira greets in voice that is not as perky and cheerful as her normal greeting, down in the bar, but its more heartfelt, radiating both happiness and affection.

Freed's smile is just as deliciously genuine. Laxus has never seen such a smile on his face, though he's seen Freed with many other girls before. Usually the smile is polite, and in some cases predatory—though for some reason with Freed, Laxus can never imagine him as a predator (like a wolf, for example) without also including a monocle and a monogrammed handkerchief between his claws to mop up his mess afterwards.

However, this _thing_ that is frothing up between his best friend and Mira is something Laxus can't understand, nor bear to watch, because it fills him with confusion, envy, and awe. There are precious few couples in the guild, and those that are couples usually leave such acts of intimacy outside of the bar. Laxus has never really been a witness to this kind of affection. His grandmother had died before he was born, and his mother had left his father in his childhood.

Laxus sees Mira and Freed, and believes that he is seeing what love should look like. It makes him regret that most of the female wizards of his age that he would consider becoming partners with, are all attached to someone (or something, as in Cana's case). Of course, there are many wizards who have partners outside the guild, but that is never a relationship Laxus thinks would be viable for himself. He needs a woman who can really understand him, which he doesn't think a non-wizard would be able to do.

"Laxus, the master would like to see you," Freed comments over his shoulder, as he turns with Mira to walk out the door. Laxus bends his head slightly so that he can see Freed's hand resting carefully on Mira's hip, thumb stroking the slope of her waist. The way Mira is clutching at him provokes the thought that someone else besides Natsu is getting lucky tonight. _Today_, Laxus mentally corrects himself, eyeing the blue sky and the subtle buzz of early morning activity. Damn, but he has been awake for way too long.

Unfortunately, Laxus can't even look forward to the comfort of his own bed.

With a groan, he stands and heads down to the guildhall. He finds Makarov not staring into a tumbler like he expects at this time of the morning, but standing on the edge of one of the high windows, looking out towards the sky. He's still dressed in his casual orange outfit, though his hat is in a happy alcohol daze on top of an empty beer bottle.

It's a sheer miracle that his grandfather is even standing with the amount of booze that he has taken in. Makarov had more action during the party than even Laxus did, though Laxus had gotten a little playfully intense with the Celestial Mage before Natsu had ruined his fun.

Damn, but did that blond have curves. He wasn't completely sure, having never felt them up himself, but he thought Lucy might been even bigger in the chest than Mira or Erza. Not that Erza regularly showed hers off, but he is experienced enough to take a guess.

"Hey old man!" Laxus's voice is loud enough to wake the zombied drunk, but what does he care? If they are still inside the guildhall, they should get out. He doesn't have the time or energy to go around and kick more of the blitzed and pissed out of his damn guildhall. (It isn't his guildhall yet, but he has no compunctions about claiming ownership early). "What did you need to talk to me about, 'cause I want to head home."

He waits for a few moments, but Makarov does not turn around, though Laxus knows that Makarov has heard him. While the window exhibits a bright sky outside, Makarov's profile is completely in shadow, so he can't even see what his grandfather's face looks like.

Uh-oh. Now what? Laxus grimaced. It just figures that after a long stressful day, the time in which he should be able to wind down so that he can finally get some rest, something apocalyptic would happen. _I wonder if Cana's finally drowned herself in a beer keg._

Makarov is silent for a few more minutes before he turns, displaying tears cascading over the vast craggy wrinkles of his cheeks, snot surging across the bushy plains of his upper lip, until it condenses into a wet stream which gushes off his face.

"Laxus!" Makarov throws himself at his grandson, clinging to his neck and—in the process—covering his grandson in his own mucilage.

"What the hell, gramps!" Laxus grabs Makarov and tries to pull the old man off of him, but Makarov refuses to let go, sobbing into Laxus's chest.

"Gramps! Either explain to me what this is all about, or let go!" Makarov sobs for minutes longer than Laxus's patience can hold, so Laxus finally sits down on a bench to wait out his grandfather's tears.

He would have pulled his grandfather off of him and left, if not for one thing. Its not that Laxus is so tired that he feels a little dizzy. Or that he hasn't exactly gotten dinner tonight, what with the entire guildhall almost burning down from flame brain's jealous rage. It's that after so long, with this silent undercurrent of tension between the two of them (despite Guildarts rescinding Laxus's banishment from Fairy Tail) that Laxus feels underneath it all, Makarov has finally and truly forgiven him.

Momentarily finished using Laxus's wife beater as a hanky, Makarov pulls back to stare indignantly into Laxus's eyes. "It's not fair!" Makarov finally wails, and then pushes his wet and whiskery face into Laxus's shoulder once again.

"Geez, gramps. I swear, if this is about you and one of the girls—"

"How dare you, Laxus!" Makarov whimpers, slightly muffles from where his face is smashed against Laxus's muscled bicep. "You were just getting my hopes up! Thought you'd toy with an old man and his fondest dreams!"

"What? Fondest dreams?" Laxus scrunches his eyebrows together, bewildered. Is this about him and Lucy? Surely Gramps knew about the plan Mira concocted and roped him into, not that he objected either to getting a lot closer to the Celestial Mage or yanking Natsu's tail.

But Makarov, though calming, still will not look Laxus in the eye. It is a little strange, and funny, for Laxus to experience this role reversal. When Laxus was younger, it would have been Laxus sitting on his grandfather's lap crying his eyes out (though Makarov would have to use his Titan magic to make himself big enough for Laxus to fit on his lap).

Makarov leans back and pokes his two pointer fingers together. "Umm.. Well… You see…" Makarov jerks his head up. "Oh, I think I hear Mira calling me. Excuse me, sonny!"

Laxus grabs Makarov by the back of his shirt before he can jet off. "Not so fast. Mira left with Freed ten minutes ago. We're the only ones here. Now explain."

Now Makarov is back to the eye-avoidance, finger-poking thing. "Well, it's just Mira implied that Lucy and you were together."

"Yeah, that was just part of the ruse to get Natsu to take the bait and finally admit his feelings for Lucy."

Makarov starts sniffling again. "I realize that now, but— but—"

"But what?"

"But I already started taking bets on what my first great-grandchild would be!" Makarov's eyes start gushing tears again, but thankfully this time he turns around to huddle against a bench his face in his arms. (Which makes Laxus suspect that the reason Makarov started crying against Laxus was partially to punish him.)

Laxus twitches. Not that he hasn't been expecting that answer, but to have it confirmed how involved gramps is with his life (even though before tonight they haven't completely been speaking to each other) is a little off-putting.

Clenching his jaw, Laxus indignantly snaps, "And what are you more upset about? The money or the grandchildren?"

"Both!" Makarov moaned into his arms.

"Look gramps. I don't have anyone in my life right now, and moreover, it's going to be years before I ever decide to have kids." Laxus frowns and corrects himself. "If I ever decide to have kids."

"But why Laxus! Why would you ever take the pleasure of this old man from seeing new life, from seeing his legacy continue on, before he departs on his next great journey!" Makarov whips around to stare at him directly in the eyes, though his own are wobbling with an excess of tears.

"Geez you're not that close to death. What a pain." Laxus sits down and hunches over, rubbing his neck with both of his hands. "I don't think… I just don't think I'm ever gonna be the kind of man a girl wants to settle down with."

Makarov sighs then, a sigh that settles the age back into his bones. When Laxus looks up, it is to the calm, mature guild master that Laxus is used to. "My son, that is not really something for you to decide. I hope when the time comes, when you find the person whom you love and that loves you, you'll have an open mind. Don't fall prey to stubbornness like I did with your grandmother. It took years before I decided that I was worthy enough to love her, but she had already seen something inside me worthy enough for her to love."

"Remember, Laxus, with the right person, their love can make you become a better person, and that is what you have to search for. But you also have to allow it to happen."

"Che." Laxus crosses his arms. He isn't going to say that his gramps is completely wrong, but older people seem to live in a world of idealism; everything was better in the past, and the world was flooded with truth, justice, and people who didn't leer at girls in short skirts.

But those ideals just didn't seem to hold value in the world he lives in. They are like the ghosts in a haunted house. Even while they exist inside the house, they are unable to leave, unable to affect reality (besides the odd tantrum), and serve as nothing more than as reminders of people and ages long since dead.

Even as Laxus contemplates his grandfather's words, he finds the vision of the perfect woman an insubstantial wisp of smoke in the morning light. Yet still, he doesn't want to argue with his grandfather.

"Sure, gramps," he hesitantly whispers. "If you say so."


	2. Chapter 1

So, a brief introduction: this story is about an original character. I have started it in inside of the Fairy Tail world, but this is in a town in the mountains that is somewhat backwards. It's more like the 1800s, where women are considered lesser creatures. They're very cut off from the rest of society. In any case, the story focuses on my original character, Wen Ling, who is a stone wizard. She gets into trouble with another wizard, who wants her to find him a certain precious jewel. Though she attempts to escape him, circumstances force her to leave her little brother behind with him as a hostage. So, she must rescue him, but she cannot possibly do it on her own. She decides to travel to a guild that might be willing to help her take down this dangerous dark wizard…

* * *

_**I am not the diamond in the rough. I am the coal: small, bitter, black, and brittle. **_

"Why did I agree to this again?" I whisper, not sure if I desire that my brother—_my_ _little brother_—to hear me. We journey upward, the dusty shade of the trees crowding overhead, as do the dark thunderclouds. The ground is steep, and it dips in several places. Of course, this is in addition to the large amount of rocks and pebbles crumbling and jagged underfoot. Despite the ragged terrain, I did not stumble.

My brother however, is not so dexterous. His much shorter legs find it harder to manage the high hills and the mountain air does not seem to agree with him.

"Why does it have to be so high up?" Gavin grunts as I help him manage another ledge. The path we are taking is shorter compared to the one for the mining carts, which can take more than an hour to navigate. However, it is also requires more vigorous activity since unlike the other path, it has not been smoothed out at all. The only reason we are taking this path is because there is only a brief window of time that the men will be at their campsite, and I have to catch them while they are.

To go into the mountains alone is dangerous. The men will be scattered around in different areas, and there are more paths in there than fleas on a dog. It is quite possible to enter the mountain and die because you got lost. Moreover, not all of the paths are safe. More miners die in cave-ins than for any other reason.

Though the men did not give me directions, I know where to go, as do all the children in the village. More than one child has followed these paths on an errand for their mother. We step on dirt that, unlike the sparse grass on the hill everywhere else, is as brown and brittle as burnt bread.

The trees give regretfully away to a crowd of men lackadaisically wandering around a large campsite. I release Gavin's hand, but I have to shake his loose when it clings to mine. He gives me a sullen look, which I know is hiding his fright. I shake my head at him. We must present a strong image, which is not helped by the fact that I am but a young girl and he is half my size. For us holding hands would not help our case.

Before us, the clearing seems darker than it should have. A pit in the middle spews smoke at an impressive rate. A group of sullen tents and logs (to sit on, I assume) circle the fire, and a few men are lingering around a cook pot half the size of a man.

For a minute, we stand alone at the edge of their world. We dare not take another step, for then they would see us and we would fall into their grasps.

Then someone notices us. A cry is raised, and a wave of tension arises as the men pause in their activities to acknowledge that they are not alone anymore. The sanctity of their camp has been breached by civilization.

Their leader—or whom I assumed to be their leader—struts forward to meet us. He is a rough, ugly man with a full wiry beard and wavy grey hair that came down to his shoulders. His grey hair seemed greyer for the dusky light and the layer of dirt clinging to every part of him.

"This is the girl that can find me the stone?" His eyes blankly scrutinize my breech clad thighs, but— I was thankful to see—no hunger. Once or twice I'd had to use this outfit, and I'd gotten looks of a depraved, evil lust that made me fear for my virginity—and sometimes my life.

"Yes, sir. This is my sister." My brother, taller than me, tugs me forward reluctantly so that I stand a little more in the light. He has been against this idea from the beginning, but he is here with me and I am thankful. Not only because I have someone that I trust at my back, but also because this venture would be impossible without him. These wayward, backwoods type people will not accept a woman as the head of a family. They would only deal with a man (and I use this term loosely because I really couldn't consider my brother at twelve a man). The miners surround us, hands on their picks and with some looking like they'd bathed in dust. Their eyes gleam darkly, with no smiles on their faces.

These men are hardly ever seen around our sleepy little community. They spend their days and nights sleeping inside or next to the dark rocky halls of the mountain, and the taint of the mountain stones seem to linger in their roughened bodies. In the summer sun, the smell coming from them is rank: the smell of unwashed male body along with sharp bitter scent of the explosives they used in mining.

Unconsciously, I remember the smell of my father, who was also a miner. He had often smelled of sweat and a little bit like dust. I could remember that tang of the explosives, but underneath that was a more human smell. The smell of fresh skin and the spicy cologne that he favored. He had worked these same mountains, but had always kept himself cleaner, perhaps because he had a wife and children at home.

However, these men smell like rotting meat. I fight the urge to cover my nose with a handkerchief like a lady would. _Man up_, I told myself. Then realizing how ironic that was, I amended, _but not like these kind of men_.

There is only one way to do this. Like Cynthia, the town harlot, whom I admire for her confidence in the face of adversity, I imitate the way she would raise her head and cant her hip, my arm poised cockily on my hip. It was something I always wanted to try, a sort of boastful confidence that just looks fun. Hopefully, the stance would get me past the nervousness of attempting to work with these strange men. "I want 75 percent of anything I find."

One man spoke up, and his harsh grating smoker's voice sounded like stone rubbing against stone. "Yer not getting a single jewel, slut. You'll go in and find it and be grateful for the opportunity of being around all of us real men and not those pussies living down in the village."

The leader only glances at him and he shuts up. "Depending on what you find, we will be willing to negotiate how much you will receive in compensation."

"No," I rebut, though my heart is in my throat at doing so. However, I've been standing up for my rights ever since I was sixteen and my father had died because of this very mountain. After all, I am the only one left to care for my brother and my younger sister. "That's not good enough. Before I step even a centimeter into the mountain, I want this written out. Seventy-five percent." It is steep, but I am willing to bet that they'd negotiate me down.

He seems to consider me and my bravado for a moment before a throaty chuckle echoes in his throat. "All right, little lady. Seventy-five percent, but first we have to know if you can do what your brother says you can."

Startled at the easy agreement without any negotiations, I blurted out, "I can."

"Your word, I'm sad to say, is not enough. We've gotta have proof."

"Fine," I reply, having expected as much. "I will give you your proof." I swallow and then go against every instinct by letting myself relax. However, I tug my little brother closer, giving him a look as I clench his hand in mine. He will have to be my protection (which wasn't much considering how scrawny he was compared to some of these men). At the very least he will warn me of danger, jerking me out of the vulnerable, half-aware state.

I didn't close my eyes, for it had been years since I needed such aid, but I stop paying attention to my surroundings. The world becomes a blur of colors instead, highlighted in light, sensation, and vibrations. I stop hearing, I can't even feel my brother's hand in my own, though I know I am clutching tighter than ever. There is life all around me, circles of energy that I not only could see, but feel, like heat. Each has a different tonality, rubbing up against my othersense. It is hard to describe completely, but some sort of felt like the rough weave of cotton and others luxuriously brushing up against my othersense like the soft furry coats of cats.

Finally, having collected what information I can, I come back down from that otherworldly state with a deep breath, as returning to cognizance always came with a head rush (not unlike what sometimes happens when one kneels and then stands, and sparks of silver fire race across one's vision).

I point to a man lined up with the others, drinking from a leather hip flask. "That man there has a small gold nugget in his left shoe. I'd say that its about two ounces." Then my hand moves towards my right to a man sitting down. "He has a emerald somewhere in his trousers that's about the size of my pinkie." Going through each and every single man I list every sizable jewel or precious stone they were each carrying, sometimes two or three. When I finish, I state, "I dare you to prove me wrong."

Complete and utter silence. Not one of them could refute me, and the leader looked at his men with some emotion close to betrayal. I knew my little show might have some ramifications, but that is little in comparison to what we could gain with me showing the way.

After that there is a lot of arguing. A lot of the men are upset and embarrassed at me calling them out. Some question my competence or the fact that I was a female that I wouldn't be able to keep up with them. No one argues that I haven't sufficiently proven my ability as a wizard, even though what I had done hadn't been that marvelous or miraculous, at least in my opinion.

However, to these men, they depend on their ability to locate and extract these precious minerals. The fact that they had gone weeks and weeks without locating anything worth selling meant that they and (for some) their families were starving. Their ability to provide is an essential part of their lives. Without that ability, they essentially feel worthless, and I could commiserate.

Nevertheless, their arguing is seriously wasting my time.

Some of the men look like they are about to get physical, and I'm grateful that they are not focusing on me, but on each other. Me and my brother have taken a lesser focus, for which I take advantage. I put an arm around my brother's small, thin shoulder, especially since it looks like he's getting angry. I back us up to the circle of trees, and hide inside the edge of the shadows.

Then I notice the leader who has been sitting this whole time, rolling a cigarette in his worn dusty hands. He's calm and quiet in the face of so much tension and yelling. For a man that probably handles picks and axes most of the day, his hands seem surprisingly nimble as he carefully handles the paper and tobacco ash. He licks the paper closed, lights the tip, and breathes in. The tip of his cigarette burns quick and red, then as he exhales a dark nimbus of heavy smoke which eclipses his face for a sharp moment. When the smoke lifts, there is a careful glittering awareness.

The smoke he exhales clings to the air above him, growing thicker and darker. A veritable thundercloud hangs black above the miners, and the smell of it clings to my every breath. It smells like (well, what I imagine is) standing in the middle of a forest fire. I cover my mouth with my shirtsleeve, motioning my brother to do the same. I wonder now if this is the time to run for it. This man is a lot more dangerous than I thought, a lot more dangerous than I can handle.

This isn't just a man. This is a wizard.

As I'm backing away, I watch as the smoke descends upon the crowd of oblivious fighting men. There are shouts and sharp noises and men trying to run away, to exit the circle of smoke. However, no one comes out. The cloud writhes around, so that it doesn't look anymore like a cloud, but like snakes and thunder and danger. I try to press Gavin to my side, try to shield his eyes, try to prevent him from seeing this horror, but he refuses. His hand pushes mine away from his face, though he clings to my body.

Then there's a rushing noise, and it looks like the cloud is moving inward, like there is a vacuum trying to suck the cloud in, but I don't see where it is going. Then as the cloud begins to lift, I see the men all struggling on the ground, some hands reaching out to grasp an invisible force, others clasped over their mouths and noses as if attempting not to breathe. And the smoke- _the smoke._ I saw streams of it, like the small curly ends of a tornado extending from each of their face. Some of the men were already unconscious from lack of air, but others held on a bit longer.

Then it is quiet and too late to run.

However, it had been too late to run even before this. It had been too late from the moment that I stepped into the clearing, but now I was cursing myself for not forcing my brother away.

The wizard is still standing at the edge of campsite, contemplating the macabre site of his men spread out before him, hopefully just unconscious. But I did not have to wonder if he has done this before. Moreover, I also do not have to wonder if he is capable of killing. I know he is capable of much more.

x


End file.
